


Harbouring a Fantasy or Two.

by rainer76



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Family Dynamics, Gen, Pining, post season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainer76/pseuds/rainer76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek saw a wolf gnaw its own foot off once to escape, haemorrhaging blood it stumbled in a tight circle, turned threefold then lay down to die in the snow. No miraculous healing or happy ending – but it had the dignity of choosing where it would fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harbouring a Fantasy or Two.

He approaches from the left flank, dusty old boots and a long coat on the edge of Derek’s peripheral vision. In the middle distance Scott laughs, one arm carelessly thrown over Isaac’s shoulders. Lydia sits on a black stump of a tree with Jackson beside her, his arms folded, expression disinterested. Stiles flickers between them, snap-quick and seemingly directionless, each movement as unpredictable as an open flame. Derek doesn’t acknowledge his uncle but breathes in, lets his chest expand with air, his shoulders broaden, a visual reminder that he’s bigger, stronger, faster and younger.

“My, my, my, how in all the ways we have grown,” Peter remarks drily. It sounds similar to Kate, mocking and appreciative, all of it gift-wrapped in tones of cruelty. “Of course, I’d be more intimidated if it was actually _you_ who bested me in combat. But I’ll say, you do make a good showing.”

Derek does turn then. He feels the shift under his skin, a crackle like electricity as his claws lengthen. Peter’s the only one he truly knows, who smells like pack, home, a reminder of childhood. “You think I can’t kill you now?” It’s a hollow threat. He can, he can, but he won’t.

“Now? Oh definitely, with ease even. But the thing is, you never know if I’m going to stay dead, do you? It’s a handy trick to have; I may even share it with you one day. But if you’re referring to back _then_ , well no, you couldn’t kill me.” Peter’s eyes flicker toward the group of kids, his body placed to Derek’s left and two steps behind, subservient in everything but speech. “But you very heroically slashed my throat after somebody else did your dirty work for you. Such Alpha traits…slaughtering an opponent already burnt to a crisp. I’m sure it’ll be a mark in your favour.”

There’s a rumble starting in Derek’s throat, anger that has his wolf pacing restlessly. He and Laura ran for eleven years, ran until it became second nature, he wanted to stop, rebuild, and given the opportunity Derek took it, he’ll never apologise. But he’s caught in a bear trap of his own design, the foundations of his pack as unsteady as the ruins of his family home. There’s pressure against his chest, every decision he makes seemingly wrong.

Derek saw a wolf gnaw its own foot off once to escape, haemorrhaging blood it stumbled in a tight circle, turned threefold then lay down to die in the snow. No miraculous healing or happy ending – but it had the dignity of choosing where it would fall.

Peter peers at him, mouth turning downward in an exaggerated frown. “Don’t let a little truth spoil your day.”

“A little truth? The alpha pack is here because of _you!_ Because you brought the hunters down on us, because of the untold murders you caused. It’s not me they should be evaluating.”

“Comes the mantle, comes the responsibility and all that jazz,” Peter says dismissively. “But the pack you chose is yours, they _do_ reflect you. How much fodder do you think Erica and Boyd have given the Alphas? Do you think they’ll look at your pack and find you wanting?” Peter jams his hands into his pockets, his expression benign as he looks toward the kids again. “You might want to ask them to behave in the interim, or possibly bribe them. Is mind control an option?”

“I tried that already…I asked them to trust me.”

“The bite for eternal loyalty? Fickle: the boys and girls these days. They didn’t grow up in a pack knowing their place instinctively - knowing that someone else was meant to lead them - that they were betas at heart and never meant to be anything more. Let’s say, they didn’t grow up like _you_.”

The punch is the most satisfying thing Derek’s done all day; a crunch of bone, the sharp flare of pain in his knuckles, Peter hits the wall with enough force to rattle the beams, for the house to groan and shower them with ash.  “ _Shut up_.” It’s a roar this time.

Outside, the sound of the kid’s laughter falls silent.

“I’m entitled a grievance or two.”

“You’re like wormwood, rotting at the core.”

Peter grins, blood smeared on his teeth. “Family to the end, and if we’re throwing insults, dear nephew, I think it was _you_ who brought the infection into our house in the first place, or did you think that piece of knowledge escaped me? Sweet Kate and fourteen year old Derek, sitting in a tree, K-I-L-L-I-N-G.”

“Derek?”

They both turn, their eyes ochre and red, violence thrumming in the air. Stiles stands in the doorway, one hand braced on the wall, close to the Alpha packs sigil. He shifts his feet surreptitiously, his heart rate spikes then plateaus, spikes again. He smells, Derek notes.  It's a different scent to Erica and her fits of epilepsy but not dissimilar. His medication is past due and Derek feels the violence bank, the need to spill blood ebbing away. He pushes Peter behind him.

“Hate to interrupt the family good times, but if you want help tracking where the Alpha pack came from and their kill trail, then I’m going to need more info. Also, computer access and my meds, because I’m heading toward scattershot.” Stiles looks at Peter expressionlessly then turns his attention to Derek. “It would be easier if you came back to mine.”  Like most of Stiles’ statements, it’s both truth and bold lie. “And since I’m not overly fond of madcap uncle Peter, the sooner we leave the better.”

 _You’re not overly fond of me either_ , Derek doesn’t say. The bear trap loosens its grip. It’s not escape - it might be instinct after eleven years but Derek promised himself he’d never run again - but it is an invitation to walk free from the pressure surrounding him, choose his own ground, to stand free or circle around and die.

Once addressed, Peter’s quick to answer Stiles, his eyes ochre and streaked through with red, like the after-burn of an engine. “I admit, the fire sent me insane but I can confidently say death cured me, made anew, I am. I have you to thank for that...having seen fit to burn me alive. Again.” His teeth lengthen; Peter nods cordially, his face long with hunger. “If you need help with research on pack dynamics, I volunteer.”

“No,” Derek says immediately.

“And I’ll be in the jeep, with my wolfbane and magic books.” Stiles backs up, he trips down the porch and miraculously lands on his feet, sneakers scuffing in the dirt. “Seriously, sour wolf, you need to find yourself a better family.”

Derek's trying but the family he chose wanted nothing to do with him, and he _recognises_ the look on the remaining family he has; he’s seen that same expression of hunger mirrored on his own face. Derek waits until Stiles is out of earshot before he snarls. “Leave him alone.”

Peter sniffs the air delicately. “Harboured a fantasy or two?”

“I mean it. If you touch him, I will kill you.”

“Kill me and that would only confirm to the Alphas’ you can’t control your pack.” Peter shrugs, as if it makes no difference to him one way or another, there’s no scent of fear, only patience and the smell of dirt. “You’d be dead before sunrise and funny enough, I don’t think you know my little trick of resurrection. Funnier still, you don’t deny the fantasy charge. But I forgot, you were only fourteen when Kate started fiddling with you. What’s learned is so often repeated.” Peter leans forward, his face mocking. “And everyone loves a paedophile.”

The second attack lays Peter’s chest open, claws swiping from stomach to clavicle. His uncle drops to his knees with a groaning laugh, fingers splayed across his own chest.

“I saw the way you looked at him.”

“True, I offered Stiles the bite once and I’ve spent a lot of time fantasizing, but this is where we differ. He. Burned. Me. Alive…. _Again_. Realistically, most of my fantasies involve my nuzzle in his entrails, blood on my snout as I ferret around, as I watch his face pale and hear his breath hitch. So slow it’s delicious. How about you?”

Don’t trust him, don’t listen to him, don’t kill him, because Peter was right, the Alpha’s would end Derek’s life and leadership would fall to one of the pups, to someone who would fall on the first challenge. And Peter was right, Derek _wants_ to hear Stiles’ breath hitch, lap at his blood, so slow it’s delicious, to place a hand on his stomach and hold Stiles down, bring him off with all the expertise Kate had taught him.

Peter grins.

Stiles’ is waiting, he gave Derek an out, even if is was only temporary, and he’s not Kate Argent (liar, some part of him whispers - what’s perpetrated is so often repeated) but he’s not a puppet or a victim, he doesn't have to be defined by the fire or Kate Argent.  He’s not a paedophile. He can make his own choice; walk his own path.

“I can wait.”  

He’s not his uncle either - but he can learn from Peter's patience.  He walks away, slowly, leaves Peter hunched on the floor.  Stiles has the engine running when he hops into the jeep.  "You really need background information on alpha packs?"

"Can't hurt." Stiles shifts into gear, the jeep lurches forward as they make a U-turn, then trundle down the road.  "Mostly it looked like you needed a break from uncle dearest."

Derek stares out the window and says under his breath.  "Thanks."

"Wait, did Derek Hale just say thank you?" Stiles looks at him sideways, mouth curving into a grin, feet tapping erratically.  He changes the channel on the radio station, then changes it again.  "Consider it a public service.  Listening to Peter twist every word is enough to drive anyone insane, I'm looking after your mental health."

Derek slouches into the seat and closes his eyes, lets himself trust for a minute as the sunshine washes everything shell-pink and warms his skin.  He places one hand on Stiles' thigh to settle the restless jiggling, squeezes him quickly before he releases him.  "You're late with your medication."

 

 

 


End file.
